


All I Want for Christmas is You

by hollyhock13



Category: DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bittersweet, Christmas, Gen, It was supposed to be angstier but it came out all fluffy and idk what to do with that, well fluffy for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhock13/pseuds/hollyhock13
Summary: Moments from the kids' first Christmases at Wayne Manor, plus one where they're all together in the end





	All I Want for Christmas is You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdkate88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdkate88/gifts).



> This is for the Batfam Christmas Stocking exchange on Tumblr and AO3. Special thanks to Ursapharoh15 for helping me get this done and presentable.

Alfred planned for this Christmas as any other.  He, with his army of caretakers, bakers, decorators, and otherwise titled helpers, had once again transformed Wayne Manor into a cheerful vestibule of holiday cheer.  Never mind that it had all gone to waste again this year.

  


He tries to banish that thought from his mind.  No, he has done his job, and he has done it well.  As valet to the only remaining Wayne, it is vital that he oversee the remaining details.  The phone rings. He answers it as he has done so many times prior. The conversation with the planner executing this year’s charity gala goes exactly as expected, and Alfred rests the handset back in its cradle to end the call.  He sighs as he mentally calculates the tasks that remain. Once, he had forgotten among the holiday to-dos to complete some of his less flashy but more important tasks. He doesn’t forget anymore.

  


As he adds “pay the party planner” to his list for tomorrow, the doorbell rings.  Alfred reviews his list of expected personnel and finds he is quite correct in not expecting any until tomorrow at the earliest.  Most don’t work on Christmas, regardless of religious affiliation, as it is a national holiday. Alfred hesitates just a moment before moving toward the door to peek out the window.

  


A huddled mountain of clothing and skin red from the cold greets his cautious eyes.  Perhaps a homeless man or woman who has heard that the Waynes are kind to such persons down on their luck.  Perhaps a criminal meaning to catch him off-guard and rob them blind. Or—he catches himself before he can dwell on that particular thought.  This requires a decision, and a quick one. He makes up his mind and reaches for the lock. He is Alfred Pennyworth, of Her Majesty’s Special Forces.  He can take any ruffian who might be at the door. He turns the handle and faces his unexpected guest.

  


A pair of familiar blue eyes blink down at him.  “Alfred?”

  


“It can’t be.”

  


“It’s me.”

  


“You’ve grown.”

  


A half-sob and a laugh.  “Yes. May I come in?”

  


Alfred steps to the side.  “You may as well. It is your house, after all.”

  


The mountain of a human being that has revealed itself to be Bruce Wayne takes a step inside the door.

  


“May I take your coat, Sir?”  Alfred asks his once-charge with a lump in his throat.

  


The smile that has been flirting with the corners of Master Bruce’s mouth flees.  “I—. Yes, thank you. How—how have you been, Alfred?”

  


“My health has been adequate.  And yours?” He doesn’t mention how he feels he has aged ten years for every moment his young charge had been gone.

  


“Mine has been the same.”  Bruce doesn’t mention the scars that Alfred can see now litter his arms with the removal of his (inadequate) coat.

  


“Where have you been?” Alfred asks around the lump in his throat that has only grown.

  


“Everywhere,” Bruce replies.  “I’ve set foot on every continent.  I’ve learned languages and techniques from all over the world.  I’ve eaten local foods in over a dozen different countries and not one of them can hold a candle to your cooking.”

  


Alfred doesn’t point out that most of their food is prepared by a professional chef.  “Is that so, my boy?”

  


Bruce seems to crumble at the familiarity.  “It’s true. I’ve learned hundreds of fighting techniques, but never to kill.  I’ve got a plan, Alfred, to help the city.”

  


The butler gathers his boy into his arms.  “Can it wait until after Christmas?”

  


“...Yes.”  And it does.

  
  
  


  


Dick has never seen so many presents in his life.  There’s gotta be a hundred, no, a THOUSAND of them!  He stares at them for all of twenty seconds before he’s attempting to climb the pile.

  


“Master Richard, it will be much easier to open your gifts if you are not dependant on them for structural stability,” Alfred says.

  


Dick frowns and slides down the pile.  “ _ My _ gifts?  They’re not for everybody?  What about you and Bruce?”

  


Alfred points to two much smaller piles under one of the smaller trees.  “They wouldn’t fit under the tree,” he laments.

  


Dick is satisfied by this answer and goes back to ogling the mountain of presents instead.  “How many do you think there are?” he asks in awe.

  


“Many.  I do believe Santa got a little carried away this year.”  Alfred and Bruce exchange a look that Dick doesn’t understand.  “Shall we begin?”

  


Dick nods eagerly and the two men watch him tear into the shiny gift wrap.  The pile of wrapping paper grows in proportion to the pile of unwrapped gifts.

  


Dick starts to wane about halfway through the enormous pile, so they take a break for hot cocoa (and coffee) with cookies and breakfast.  Dick stuffs an entire handful of marshmallows into his mug. Alfred joins him in giggling at Bruce’s whipped cream mustache. The chocolate chip pancakes with a smiley face are the best thing he’s ever seen!

  


The rest of the presents are unwrapped quickly without much attention paid to what is inside.

  


Long after the pile of presents has been exhausted, Dick climbs into Bruce’s lap.  “Bruce?”

  


“Yeah, Chum?”

  


“Thanks.”

  


“Sure, Chum.”

  


The sniffle is unexpected, and Dick tries to play it off.

  


“Chum?  Are you alright?”

  


“Yeah, I just got a cold.”  It’s a lie and they both know it.

  


“Did you not get something you wanted?” Bruce asks quickly.

  


“No, it’s not that.”  Another sniffle escapes, then a sob.  “Do you still miss yours?” Dick asks before he can stop himself.

  


Bruce takes a moment to think.  “Yes,” he answers honestly, “every day, but especially for big moments like this.  But it gets easier after a while.”

  


Dick turns his face into Bruce’s shoulder to muffle the next sob.  “I want them back!” he cries. “I don’t want it to be easier, I want them back!”

  


“I know.”  The day doesn’t get any easier, but they do manage to enjoy some of it.  Dick goes to bed with one of his new stuffed animals tucked under his arm, and one of his old ones tucked under the other.

  
  
  


The best thing about Christmas is the food, Jason thinks.  Cookies and turkey and ham and pie and mashed potatoes and as much gravy as he can fit on his plate make for a happy boy.  Even better, though, are the abundance of fruit and vegetables. Everything from corn, peas, and green beans to oranges, apples, and pomegranates!  If he tries, he thinks he can put every color in the world on his plate. He’s even pretty sure that Alfie will let him if he wants to try. He takes some of everything, and he refuses to leave the table until he’s finished his plate, though not for lack of trying on Bruce’s part.

  


“Jay-lad!  Don’t you want to come play with some of these?”

  


A shake of his head.  There’s collard greens too!

  


“My boy!  Look at this helicopter!”

  


Oh ho ho!  There’s a whole drumstick left! Score!

  


Bruce sighs in defeat.

  


Jason is starting to slow down, but he's still eating even though he’s starting to think he's going to make himself sick.  And then he takes a bite of the cauliflower. He makes a face, gags, and takes another bite.

“Jay, if you don't like it you don't have to finish it.”

  


Jason nods and takes another painful bite.

  


“Jay, nothing bad is going to happen if you don't eat the cauliflower.”

  


“What if we get hungry later and I didn't eat it and it goes to waste?” Jason demands.

  


“Then we'll get some different food,” Bruce replies.  “There will never be a shortage of food in this house.

  


“But mom says…” the boy trails off and clamps his mouth shut.

  


“What does your mom say?”

  


“She says to eat when we got food. To save the cans and stuff for when it's bad, but never let it go to waste.”

  


“That's a good philosophy, buddy, but the truth is that we made enough so that we could have leftovers. There's no way we can eat it all tonight.”

  


“Then what are we going to do with it?!” Jason demands, surveying the feast.

  


“We're going to wrap it up and put it in the fridge and the freezer to keep it good,” Bruce assures.  “It will be almost as good as if we ate it right this second and it keeps us from getting too full.”

  


“How can you be sure the electricity will stay on, though?” Jason demands.

  


“Because we pay our bill in full and on time every month.  It won't be a problem.”

  


“Mom said she payed it sometimes too, and then the lights went out anyway.” Jason stares at the remaining mound of food on his plate as frustrated tears leak from his eyes.

  


“How about we put it in the freezer? That way, if the power does go out, we can get it connected again before it thaws completely.”

  


Alfred nods in agreement when Jason looks at him for confirmation.   Jason nods slowly. “Okay.”

  


“Alright, let's get some of those leftover containers.  Do you know where they are?” Bruce asks Jason.

  


He shakes his head and Alfred steps in.  “Allow me, young masters.”

  


Alfred disappears for a few minutes and returns with stacks of Tupperware.  “Shall I inform you how to fill these properly?” He asks.

  


Bruce and Jason both nod.  After a quick demonstration, the younger ones start enthusiastically filling containers.  The mountain of containers is a mountain of packaged food in under a half hour. Bruce and Jason are very pleased with themselves as they ferry food to the chest freezer that Alfred keeps for such occasions.  Jason warms up a little after that.

  
  
  
  


Her funeral was held on Christmas Eve, and her husband wasn’t there.

  


Tim doesn't cry at the funeral, or when they get home.  He goes to bed.

  


Dick spends the night at the manor, though whether he's there for Tim or Bruce is anyone's guess.

  


Christmas morning dawns quietly at Wayne Manor, with nobody up and about, not even Alfred.  Tim wakes first, as the others stayed up for patrol. He doesn't want to encounter anyone, so instead of heading for the tree and the gifts piled there he turns toward the kitchen for a glass of water and maybe some toast.

  


It takes him a moment to find a glass, and then another to find bread and a toaster. He's never been in this kitchen without another person before, and it seems colder, more clinical than it ever had before.  Tim realizes he doesn't want to be alone. He leaves the bread toasting in the toaster and heads back up the stairs.

  


Tim pauses at the top.  He'd been seeking company, but he realizes now that he's not sure whose company he should be seeking.  Bruce is not someone he wants to disturb for any reason. Alfred works so hard all the time, he doesn't want to disturb his rest.  And Dick, he hardly knows Dick for all that he's admired him from afar for so long. He stands there, paralyzed by indecision and what feels like tears building in his eyes.  “Why now?” Tim mutters to himself as he presses his hands to his eyes.

  


“Tim?” Asks a voice from somewhere beyond the colors blooming against his eyelids.

  


He drops his hands instantly to see Dick Grayson bending to look him in the eyes.  “You alright, kiddo?”

  


Tim nods woodenly.

  


Dick offers him a soft smile.  “You know, I've always found that opening gifts is a pretty good way to distract myself from the unpleasantness in the world, at least for one morning.”

  


Tim takes the suggestion as what it is: a tentative offer for some comfort through material things.  He nods.

  


Dick's smile gets a hundred times brighter, but before Tim can regret agreeing to this odd form of retail therapy, Dick has taken him by the arm and dragged him into Bruce's room without knocking.

  


“Psst.  Bruce. It's Christmas.”

  


Bruce checks the alarm clock on the table with the one eye he's cracked open at the stage whisper.  “I'm tired, Dick. We can start Christmas later.”

  


“Tim's here too.”

  


That gets a bigger reaction.  Bruce rolls over to squint at the two of them.  Tim thinks that he must look really quite pathetic because Bruce sighs and begins making motions to get up.  “Fine. I'll be down in ten minutes. Don't bother Alfred if you don't have to.”

  


Dick chirps, “Okay!”

  


He drags Tim out of Bruce's room  and back to the room where he had spent the night.  “If you want to be wearing any clothes for the rest of the day, now is the time.” 

  


Tim blinks at that declaration.  Where might they be going? Are they planning to stay here?  He chews on his lip for a moment. Maybe this is a trick question and they really spend all morning in pajamas.  He decides on putting on a warm hoodie over the top of his pajamas. He turns back to Dick, who is still grinning like he's won the lottery.  Although, Tim thinks, considering the house they're both in, he kind of has.

  


Dick quite literally pulls him out of his thoughts by taking his arm and tugging him toward the stairs.  “Come on, it'll be fun! Promise.”

  


Bruce steps out of his room looking very tired.  Tim is immediately hit by guilt that effectively knocks him out flat.  Dick must notice something, because he turns to Tim with concern in his eyes.

  


“You okay, Timbo?”

  


That, of course, makes Bruce turn to survey him, and Tim is positive he can see every feeling Tim's ever hidden written right there in his face.  Tim nods to try and escape this scrutiny, but they only redouble their efforts.

  


Bruce finally asks, “What is wrong, Tim?  Did Dick pressure you into this?”

  


Dick squawks at the accusation but ultimately doesn't speak.  Tim shakes his head.

  


“I'm sorry we woke you up,” he says instead, “I know you had a late night.”

  


Bruce frowns.  “You're fine,” he says.  “You can always come to me.”

  


“I--you're so busy, it's not--”

  


“I'll always have time for you, Tim.  Would you like to go downstairs?”

  


Tim nods.  “Yeah, I'd like that.”

  


  


  


Damian is sulking.  He admits it only in his head, but he's quite certain this is what the word means.

  


Richard is definitely sulking.  He is upset that his so called family are scattered around the globe: Cain in Hong Kong, Drake in Paris the last they had heard, and Todd wreaking havoc in Gotham but refusing any and all attempts at reconciliation (ridiculous though Damian himself may find the concept) and Father…  Father is dead. Damian tries not to dwell.

  


He goes back to his sulking instead.  This is the most ridiculous holiday he has ever encountered.  Who makes a holiday based around family and gifts when there are people who have neither?  Damian scowls. This is ridiculous indeed.

  


Grayson intrudes upon Damian's bedroom to greet him.  “Hi Li'l D. You ready for presents?”

  


Damian scowls again.  “I am not. I did not realize I was expected to give you gifts in return,” he admits.  “I have no such offering for you or Pennyworth.” His cheeks burn.

  


Grayson doesn't miss a beat.  “That's alright, little D. I've gotten a lot of presents in my day.  Maybe I can take you out shopping tomorrow for a present for Alfred in any case.”

  


Damian nods slowly.  If he plans it correctly, he may also be able to pick a gift for Grayson.  “That would be acceptable.”

  


Grayson gives him another one of his large grins.  “Great! Then come on down!”

  


Damian follows Grayson's bounds at a much slower pace.  He is quite certain that the man is performing for his sake, as he knows he had been upset to be rebuffed by his siblings.  Damian scowls again. Why had no one told him about the traditions of this holiday? If he had known he would at least have had a gift to offer Grayson as poor restitution.

  


Damian looks up as they enter the entry hall.  He knows the large tree would only fit in this open area before the stairs where the ceiling doesn't close them in (it's a three story room), but he hadn't realized the space would be required for the  _ mountains _ of gifts that had somehow been acquired without his knowledge.  The wrapping paper shines in the light from the tree.

  


Grayson nudges him with a grin.  “It's pretty, right, Damian?”

  


Damian closes his mouth with a snap.  “Tt. It is acceptable.” He regrets his words when it makes the smile on Grayson's face fade.  He turns to look at the gifts again to assuage his guilt. “To whom are these addressed?” He asks instead of trying to apologize.  That urge is just weakness, he reminds himself.

  


“Well, some are for me, and some are for Alfie, and there are some for Cass and Tim when they get home, and a couple for Jason in case he decides to show up and a few for Babs and one or two for Stephanie…” Dick smiles at Damian's impatient scowl.  “But the majority are for you.”

  


“Of course,” Damian sniffs, “you would be lost without me.”

  


“Absolutely,” Grayson agrees.  “You ready to get started then?”

  


Damian nods, and they begin.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It's been a long year, Bruce thinks.

  


Although, now that he thinks about it, it's been several long years.  Probably more than ten long years. He's quite certain he didn't know what he was thinking when he took in one child, let alone the FIVE who are now terrorizing what was supposed to be his lazy Christmas morning.

  


“Damian, give that back!  It's mine and you know it!”

  


“It was not addressed to anyone, Drake!  Grayson has informed me that that means it is a  _ family _ gift!”

  


“It only didn't have a name because it was from Cass!”

  


A wrestling match breaks out on the other side of the room.  He's not entirely sure who is involved until Cass emerges the victor with Dick pinned to the ground.  She grins and doesn't let him up until he looks properly defeated to her own inscrutable standards.

  


Jason is tossing popcorn at Damian while he yells at Tim, attempting, as far as Bruce can tell, to get it to land in his hair.  Damian whirls on him when a kernel lands in his ear. Jason is tackled and Tim takes the opportunity to snatch the gift that Damian had been trying to claim off the floor.

  


Alfred approaches from the kitchen with a tray full of breakfast, which he passes off to the swarm of children. There is not a crumb left by the time it gets to Bruce.  He groans. “What have I done to deserve kids like this?” He asks in a tone dangerously close to a whine.

  


“Oh, I don't think that is a question you want to ask, Master Bruce.  The real question is, what have I done to deserve this?” The question is said lightly, almost laughing so Bruce thinks it's a joke.

  


A wrapped gift hits Bruce right in the belly and it isn't soft.  “Hey! You next, old man!” Jason shouts across the room. The other kids stop fighting and gather around to watch.

  


Bruce opens the gift with the wariness of someone expecting a prank.  The kids goad him on with cheers and shouts which do not ease his worry.

  


The paper is removed to reveal a small box with a well-known jewelry company logo stamped across it.  He lifts the lid to see the ugliest watch on which he's ever laid eyes. He lifts it out of the package, not sure if this is some kind of mistake or joke.  But...Jason likes that style of watch band, and Damian would have insisted on the Roman Numerals on the face. Cass must have picked the garish gemstones and Dick would have liked the hideous color combinations.  He flips it over. There's Tim, in the practicality of a waterproof, atomic, and, he's certain, tech-infused watch.

  


Bruce's eyes water.  These are his kids, how could he have been complaining?  It's still a hideous watch, but it was a gift. From and of his children.  Speaking of his children…

  


“Well?”

  


“Does he like it?”

  


“I can't tell.  Do you like it, old man?”

  


“It's ugly!  I can't believe we've given Father an unattractive watch!  Father, I shall punish them all for their disgusting choices!”

  


“Damian, I love it.  Please don't hurt your siblings.  Thank you. All of you. It's the best Christmas present I could have received.”  He turns away to keep the happy tears in his eyes from leaking out. He's content for almost thirty seconds.

  


The silence is broken with a vengeance.

  


“Pay up, you cowards!” Jason crows.  “I told you we could make him cry by giving him an ugly watch!  You all owe me fifty bucks! Except Cass, who you also owe fifty bucks.”

  


The other three boys groan.  “I thought you meant tears because it was so ugly!” Dick complains.

  


“Yeah, since when do sappy tears count?” Tim whines.

  


Damian breaks in with, “The tears never fell!  You are claiming a false victory!”

  


Another fight breaks out and Bruce sighs.  What did he do to deserve children like this?


End file.
